


Requisite Improvement

by Phlogistics



Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Abuse, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Minor Character Death, Murder, Recovery, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2058216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phlogistics/pseuds/Phlogistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>None of them wanted to be here, yet here they are. Surviving has to be better, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheLatePapers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLatePapers/gifts).



> Thanks so much to TheLatePapers for being my wonderful beta. This would never have been written if not for you.

Veronica had never really had a problem with hospitals. The only time she’d ever really had to spend in them before was for routine doctor’s visits, and those had always ended with nothing more than her physician admonishing her to exercise more regularly. The only exception was once when she was twelve, when she’d had to sit in the waiting room for a couple of hours while her father was treated for a mild allergic reaction, which had mostly just been boring.

Now, sitting anxiously in a waiting room with stitches running across her forehead and her skin mottled blue and black, she could see why so many people hated them.

“Veronica, honey, maybe we should go home for now?” her mother asked, momentarily halting her pacing to run her hand over Veronica’s swollen cheek. “I understand you’re concerned, but you’ve been through a lot recently, and I think maybe you should—”

“I’m fine, really,” she said, brushing her mother’s hand away from her face. “You can stop hovering. I already told you that you can go home if you want to, but I’m not leaving yet.”

Her mother frowned, seeming ready to argue, until her father spoke up for the first time in hours. “Darling, why don’t we go get some food from the cafeteria?” he asked. “It’s been a while since we had anything. Veronica, would you like us to bring you a snack?”

Veronica smiled slightly. “No thanks. I don’t know why you like this crap hospital food.”

He smiled back, patting her shoulder lightly. “Probably because I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing hard. “That must be it.”

Her mother hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Alright, dear. But at least let us get you something from a vending machine. Even hospitals can’t mangle packaged pretzels,” she said. She waited for Veronica to nod her assent, then sighed again, “We’ll be back within forty minutes.”

Veronica tried not to feel too relieved when her parents were finally out of sight. She slumped back in the squishy lounge chair, wincing as her aching ribs protested the movement. The part of her that lacked self-awareness wanted to ask, “What did I ever do to deserve this?” But the part of her that was Heather Chandler-shaped was quick to point out that three counts of murder would fuck your karmic balance over.

Saving JD’s life probably hurt more than it helped.

She rubbed her sleeve against her eyes, trying not to make it too obvious to the lady at the desk that she was crying. She knew, of course, that anybody who manned that desk was probably more than used to tears, but Veronica’s pride still told her to buck up and put on a strong face. She pulled up her scarf further around her face so it would at least hide her trembling lips.

Twice she thought she’d killed him. And the first time, she’d been ready to go with him. It scared her, now, how quickly she’d been to just give up. There was no reason for her to hold onto the bomb once it was out on the field—she could’ve left it there and run, far enough that she would barely see the explosion. But she hadn’t. Grief and guilt had convinced her, just for a minute, that running wasn’t worth it. That she wasn’t worth it.

And then he showed up and took the bomb. Bleeding and barely standing, but there and alive. Except that he stole her incredibly shitty plan, and stood there with the goddamn bomb and waited for it to go off. “Far too damaged”—maybe he was right, she _knew_ he was probably right, but she didn’t care. Watching him die once had been enough for her. And he didn’t deserve to get away with killing anybody else, even himself.  

So Veronica punched him right in the same place she’d shot him, tossed the bomb as far as she could (praying it wouldn’t go off, she knew nothing about explosives, oh god), and dragged his mostly-unconscious and still dying ass as far as she could before the explosion knocked her off her feet.

The football field had filled with curious students and faculty a minute later, though she wasn’t particularly aware of them. Her head felt like it had been split open and blood was running into her eye, and JD was completely unmoving. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing, couldn’t think straight enough to check his pulse or do anything until she was pulled away from him. The coach settled besides him, swearing as he noticed the still-bleeding wound in JD’s belly (bleeding meant heart beat meant not dead, right?), wadding up his sweatshirt and pressing down. 

Then the ambulances had been there and they’d both been packed up and taken to the ER. She was taken care of quickly, and was mostly fine. They made her stay a single night to make sure she wasn’t concussed and then released her the next afternoon, just in time for the police to show up investigating just why she and JD had been so close to a bomb being set off.

So she’d lied, again, but not that much. “He was trying to kill himself,” she’d muttered. “I stopped him.”

But still. She’d covered for him—again, for something that was really, truly unforgivable. Except that some part of her, the part that believed in him even when there was no reason to, when she knew that doing so was foolish, had already forgiven him. Wanted him back, even.

She’d spent most of the last day sitting in the waiting room, hoping to hear that JD had woken up. She couldn’t see him without his permission, and he couldn’t exactly grant that while he was unconscious. And that was all she knew, really. That he hadn’t woken up yet—the doctors couldn’t tell her anything unless she convinced JD’s father that they should, and the one time she’d seen him in passing while he walked towards his son’s room, looking entirely unconcerned, she’d wanted to vomit. But JD must’ve already had surgery, and probably wasn’t going to die if he hadn’t croaked already, but—

Plucking a magazine from the short table next to her, Veronica flipped open to a random page. Predictions for 90s fashion trends: not exactly her speed, but definitely better than thinking about what a horrible person she was. Much, much better than breaking down out of worry.

This was actually kind of thing that it would be fun to flip through Heather Mac with, she thought suddenly. Heather knew a lot more about design than Veronica had realized at first, probably more than both of the other Heathers combined. She’d told Veronica, once—only after extracting a promise that Heather Duke would never know—that she was actually planning to study fashion and design in college, if she could get in anywhere with her grades. Veronica caught a part of her scarf between her teeth. Heather Mac hated being different, even when it should be a good thing. But she was a good person, deep down, beneath the face she put on to stay afloat. Better than Veronica, who’d thrown away her morals and her best friend for a boy.

She tossed the magazine back down without getting more than a page into it. Pushing herself up carefully, she walked over to the receptionist.

“Um, hi,” she said.

The woman glanced up from her work, smiling at Veronica the same way cashiers at the grocery store usually did. “What can I do for you?”

“I just wanted to know if there was a payphone around here somewhere,” Veronica replied, not meeting the woman’s eye.

“Just down that hall, not far from the entrance,” she said mildly.

Veronica nodded, mumbled a thank you, and walked away with all of the speed her aching body could muster.

She jammed a few quarters into the phone and dialed before she could talk herself out of it. It rang twice before Mrs. Dunnstock picked up. “Hello?”

“Oh, um, hi Mrs. Dunnstock. It’s Veronica. Is—is Martha there?”

There was a shuffling on the other end of the line, and she heard a muffled, “It’s Veronica.” Veronica’s palm felt sweaty against the sticky plastic of the phone. This had been a bad idea. She hadn’t had a chance to apologize, had barely processed what had happened to Martha—

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeated. “I mean, oh my god, fuck, how are you? That’s a stupid question, god, I just meant I wanted to know what’s going on with you because I’m worried, and you’re my best friend and I treated you so, so horribly and I almost lost you, and now I’m at the hospital and everything is going to hell. And I just wanted to know,” she was babbling, she really needed to stop babbling and just get it out, “are you free tonight?”

“…what?”

“I don’t know if you heard what happened on Friday. But thing are really bad right now, and I miss you. And I don’t deserve anything from you anymore, but I would be so, so honored if you would still be my friend,” Veronica said, the phone trembling in her grip. “And I would love to watch The Princess Bride again.”

Martha was quiet for a moment. Veronica felt like her heart had stopped beating.

“…you have to bring the popcorn this time. We ran out last week.”

“Okay,” Veronica said, a grin breaking out. She punched the air awkwardly, her arm still hurting too much to reach above her head. “Okay, yeah. Is around eight good? I can make my parents drop me off. It’ll be very.”

“Yeah,” Martha said. “Eight’s good.”

\----

Veronica’s mother dropped three bags of pretzels on her lap. “Look, they’re even the good brand,” she said, plopping down into the chair beside Veronica. Her father chuckled and settled himself into a corner chair, pulling out a dog-eared spy novel.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said. She ripped open the first bag, popping one in her mouth.  

“So,” her mother started, fiddling with the strap of her purse, “did anything happen while we were gone?”

Veronica pursed her lips. “Not really,” she said. “But I called Martha. I’m going to visit her tonight. Can you bring me there for eight?”

Her mother blinked. “Tonight? But honey, you’re still…” she trailed off. “Actually, of course you can go see Martha. It would do you girls some good to spend some time together.”

“Awesome,” Veronica replied, offering a small, grateful smile. “We can stay here ‘til six, then, and grab some dinner before I head over.”

“That sounds like a great idea, honey,” her father said, not looking up from his book. “Olive Garden?”

“Sure thing, Dad,” she said, smile growing.

“Well, since the two of you have everything worked out so nicely,” her mother said wryly, “I suppose we have a plan.”

She settled back into her chair and picked up the magazine Veronica had tossed aside earlier, leafing through it briefly. She sighed a few times at the content before putting it back down to wander around the waiting room. Veronica watched her mother pace around, looking between the clock and the receptionist, and flicking at the moving parts of a brightly colored children’s toy.

“Do you want a bottle of water, Veronica? You barely drank anything all day,” her mother said eventually.

Veronica tossed a now-empty pretzel bag towards a nearby trashcan, frowning as she missed by an inch. “Okay,” she said.

Her mother patted her shoulder, then headed back down the hall, picking up the fallen pretzel bag on her way. She’d forgotten her purse, Veronica noticed, but figured she'd appreciate the excuse to extend her walk anyway. She’d come back for it once she got to the cafeteria and realized she didn’t have her wallet.

The waiting room doors swung open again, and Veronica thought for a minute that her mother had noticed sooner than she’d expected. She glanced up and felt her stomach sink as JD's dad sauntered into the room.

He grinned at the woman working there, leaning over her desk. “Why hello there,” he said, reaching down to tap against whatever papers she was working on. Veronica grimaced. “I am here to check on my poor son with the gunshot wound. What room is he in now?”

The woman looked up icily, clearly recognizing him. “Dean, correct?”

“That’d be the one,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up.

“He’s in room 116,” she said, handing him a clipboard. “Please sign in here. To get there, go all the way down the hall and to the right, third door on your right. He’s been moved into a regular room now that he’s stabilized.”

Veronica’s heart jumped.

Dean spent a second scribbling on the clipboard and handed it back to her. He offered a small, jaunty salute as he headed towards the door. He paused, looking back over his shoulder and catching Veronica’s eye. She sunk back in her chair.

“If it isn’t the girlfriend,” he laughed. “Seems like you made out a little better for all of this than Jason, and I’m glad for you. Botched suicide attempts are a big mess. That’s what you told the police it was, right? Apparently you saved his life. So I guess some thanks are in order.”

He was in front of her in three steps, and he placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing. “Thank you. When my son wakes up, I’ll be sure to let him know you were here.”

She nodded, and he laughed again. He turned around, waved again at the receptionist, and headed out the door.

Veronica felt the bags of pretzels pop in her hands. “Shit,” she whispered. “ _Shit_.”

She looked towards her father, who was regarding her steadily over the top of his novel. “I think I’d actually like to leave, now,” she said. “Getting tired.”

“Of course,” he said. “We’ll go get your mother. We can come back first thing tomorrow, if you’d like. I’ll drop you off before work.”

“What about school?” she asked, crushing what was left of the pretzels.

“You’re not well enough to go back, yet,” he said shortly. “I’ll call in and talk to your mother about it.”

Veronica bowed her head. “Thank you.”

 

\---

“Gee Dad, I know that the responsible thing to do when I wake up after surgery is to contact the hospital staff, but I just wanted to give myself some time to wallow in peace! It isn’t every day you fail to off yourself, you know?”

JD jerked up, letting out a small cry as the wound in his side flared with pain. “ _Fuck_ —”

His dad chuckled. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It sure does seem lax of them not to be keeping a closer eye on you, though, considering the circumstances. So,” he said casually, leaning back against the wall, “your girlfriend told the police you tried to kill yourself. She stepped up, played the big hero, and stopped you from doing it.”

JD’s eyes widened, his fists curling around the bed sheets.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, son, that’s a very nice story,” he continued. He removed his sunglasses, polishing them against his shirt. “It might be true, for all I know, but there’s something that the story doesn’t account for: the conspicuously large number of thermals I found missing from my stock yesterday.”

He gave JD an expectant look. JD stared at the half-full fluid bad attached to his I.V., his jaw clenched.

“It also,” his father said, replacing his glasses, “seems very much a large coincidence that that little explosion of yours was seemingly caused by the same kind of bomb I’d usually recommend you use to set off such a nice collection of thermals.”

“Maybe you’re just not as careful with your toys as you think you are,” JD ground out finally.

His father snorted. “That’s about the worst excuse I’ve ever heard from you, and I’ve heard some bad ones,” he said.

“Maybe I thought I’d plant some thermal packs in the high school gym and set off the trigger bomb in the boiler room, the way you did with that motel. Take out the whole school during the pep rally and make it look like a mass suicide,” JD retorted, pressing his hand against his eyes.

Immediately, his father broke out into raucous laughter.

“Well, son, I know that mass murder isn’t meant to be a joke,” JD started, eyes blazing, but his father waved him off.

“That is the absolute worst plan I have ever heard,” he said, shoulders still trembling with mirth. “No way to guarantee there won’t be survivors, or even that the whole school would be there. Not to mention it’s patently unbelievable that every single person in your school would be suicidal, no matter how trendy it is.”

He ruffled JD’s hair. “You’ve got to be more careful, son. A Dean doesn’t get convicted.”

JD breathed deeply, his eyes shining. “Arraigned but acquitted?”

“Arraigned but acquitted,” his father repeated. “Oh! By the way, your girlfriend was here. She’s a catch if she’s willing to keep something like this under wraps for you.”

He patted JD’s head once more. “I’ll go let the doctors know you’re awake. You’ll probably end up having to spend some quality time in the psych ward for evaluation after what you’ve pulled, but I’ll get you out before they dig too deep. ” He whistled a cheery tune as he went back down the hall.

JD bit his lip until he tasted blood. “ _Fuck_.”


	2. Chapter Two

Veronica scraped her foot against the familiar, worn welcome mat on the Dunnstocks’ front step. She’d been standing outside for nearly five minutes, finger poised over the doorbell without making a move to press it. She let out a derisive huff of air. You’d think she’d be braver than this by now, but apparently not. Facing down a guy with a gun, armed only with a croquet mallet? No problem. Visiting her best friend, whose house she’d practically grown up in? Basically impossible.

Stomping her foot, Veronica let out a low groan and finally swung herself forward, jamming the button down. The knuckle of her index finger flared with pain.

“Ow,” she muttered, bringing the finger up to her mouth. That could’ve been more graceful.

Mrs. Dunnstock swung open the door moments later, smiling widely. “Veronica! It feels like it’s been an age,” she said, wrapping her in a soft hug. Veronica smiled back, arms curled up against her chest. The familiar smells of floral perfume and cigarette smoke wafted off of Mrs. Dunnstock’s blouse.

She stepped back, patting Veronica’s shoulder once. “Come on in. Martha will be out in a minute.” She guided Veronica towards the kitchen, a hand at her back. She pushed her down into one of the stools by the counter, poured a glass of water, and placed it in front of Veronica before she could decline the hospitality. The glass was patterned with faded, dancing geese, part of a set that had been Veronica’s favorite for years. She picked it up, tracing the design with her eyes while Mrs. Dunnstock busied herself taking care of the few dirty dishes that were resting beside the sink.

“So you girls are having a big movie night, huh?” she said, eying a nearly empty bottle of dish soap with displeasure. “I have to head back into work in a couple of hours—Susan needs a shift covered, and I’m not going to complain about overtime—so you two will be mostly on your own. There should be plenty of food in the fridge, and Martha made sure everything in the living room is all set up. You’ll be sleeping in there tonight, I hope you don’t mind. Martha can’t really handle the stairs right now.”

She offered Veronica another smile, though it was strained. “Be sure to give me a call at work if anything comes up, alright? You know I worry.”

“Of course,” Veronica said. She put the glass back down on the counter, shifting uncomfortably on her stool. “You, ah, didn’t mention—is Dave around? Or is he working tonight, too?”

Mrs. Dunnstock blinked, her hands twisting around a dishcloth. A splotchy redness rose in her cheeks. “Oh, did Martha not tell you?” she asked, glancing away from Veronica. “We’re not seeing each other anymore—not since the end of September, actually.”

Her throat felt tight. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Mom_!”

Veronica jumped up, banging her side against the counter painfully. She cursed softly as Martha continued shouting from the living room, “The chair got caught on this stupid rug again! _Mom_!”

Mrs. Dunnstock tossed the dishcloth down on the counter, wiped her hands against her jeans, and jogged into the next room. Veronica heard her apologizing to Martha and cursing the rug. (Veronica was sure it was that hideously shaggy, excessively tassled thing that Martha’s father had picked out for her on her fifth birthday, which no one could bring themselves to throw out despite how much they hated it.) Rubbing her still tender ribs lightly, Veronica steeled herself and made her way into the living room.

The past few days showed on Martha more clearly than they did on Veronica, was the first awful thought that entered her mind. Her neck was supported by a wide brace, and her body was held so stiffly in the sort of scooter she was occupying that Veronica was sure there were a couple of casts hidden under the huge, fluffy lavender bathrobe she was wearing.

“Martha,” she said, feeling suddenly like she might cry.

Martha looked up at her, irritation fading into the same sick look of embarrassment that she often wore when Ram had picked on her in the lunchroom. She shooed her mother away from where she was picking shreds of fabric from the joints of the scooter’s wheels. Mrs. Dunnstock glanced between them, but neither of them met her eyes. She sighed and headed back towards the kitchen.

“There’s nothing that rug doesn’t get ahold of, huh?” Veronica joked weakly, trying to calm her pounding heart. _Act normal_ , her mind insisted. _You can do normal, right?_

“It…” Martha hesitated, tugging on her bathrobe sleeve. Her right arm was in a sling, Veronica noticed, and she’d wrapped the robe’s empty sleeve around her neck like a scarf. It looked cute, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat.

Martha shook her head, and focused her attention on toggling the scooter controls back and forth, slowly detaching herself from the shaggy rug. Silence sat heavily between them for a moment, until Martha brightened suddenly, saying all in a rush, “Remember that time your favorite doll’s hair got tangled in it, and we tried to save her by shaving her head?”

Veronica laughed, the sound unexpected to her own ears. A small smile was blooming on Martha’s lips, and Veronica’s legs nearly went weak with relief.

“Or when Betty Finn visited with her dog in the second grade, and it got its claws stuck in it?” Veronica said, contorting her face into an approximation of little Betty’s horror.

“I can’t believe I forgot about that!” Martha squealed. “Worst birthday present ever, huh?”

“Hmmm, I dunno. I think the parka from the year before was a pretty fierce contender,” Veronica said, grinning. “Do you remember those _colors_?”

They both broke down into unrestrained giggling, recalling the various minor atrocities that they’d been gifted by Mr. Dunnstock as children. (“That _bike_ —” “No, no, those little sculpture things?” “The shoes, Martha, the _shoes_.”) The shared memories seemed to finally shatter the worst of the awkwardness lurking between them.

_I’d missed this,_ Veronica thought dazedly. She wrapped her arms loosely around Martha’s shoulders, the best hug she could manage without straining her ribs too badly. Martha leaned her head against her shoulder, and Veronica planted a kiss on top of her head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, because it needed to be said. “For everything.”

Martha pushed her away. Her eyes were shining behind the bright frames of her glasses, but she was still smiling. “I know.

“So,” she said after a moment. “Did you remember the Jiffy Pop?”

\----

“Popcorn popped?”

“Check.”

“VCR loaded?”

“Check.”

“Pile of blankets stacked so huge you can’t see the couch?”

Martha tossed a stray afghan onto Veronica’s lap. “Definitely a check.”

Veronica nodded. “Alrighty then,” she said, scrambling out of her blanket nest. She grabbed the remote control and popcorn bowl off the coffee table, pressed them into Martha’s hands, and sank back down into the plush mess. Martha giggled at her contented sigh, but Veronica flapped her hand dismissively. Her ribs hadn’t felt so cushioned in an age.

“So are we doing a solemn viewing, or the kind where we can quote along?” she asked.

Martha hummed around a mouthful of popcorn. “Let’s quote,” she said, smacking her lips together before offering Veronica the bowl. Veronica grabbed a handful and stuffed as much as she could in her mouth. She really only ate popcorn when she and Martha had their movie nights, and she’d underestimated how much she’d missed the feeling of butter and salt coating her fingers.

“Great,” she said after dislodging a popcorn kernel from her tooth. “You want anything to drink before we start? I’m gonna go grab a coke.”

“Yes please.”

“Coke too?” Veronica asked, dragging herself up again with an exaggerated groan. Martha snorted and offered a thumbs-up, which Veronica returned. She brought a blanket with her when she left, wrapped around her shoulders like a fuzzy, portable piece of heaven.

Mrs. Dunnstock was sitting at the kitchen table, absently poking at the reheated dinner resting in front of her open romance novel. She looked up when Veronica came in and gave a little wave.

“Anything good?” Veronica asked, nodding at the book as she grabbed a couple of glasses from the cabinet.

Mrs. Dunnstock sighed, closing the book. “I couldn’t say,” she admitted. “I don’t think I’ve actually read any of the last two chapters.”

Veronica pulled a half-full bottle of soda out of the fridge, trying not to let the blanket slip from her shoulders. She tugged it tighter around her. Something about the tone of Mrs. Dunnstock’s voice set her teeth on edge. “Not that interesting?” she guessed.

Mrs. Dunnstock let out a short, dry laugh. “I doubt that’s the real problem.” She drummed her blunt nails against the book’s cover, not looking at Veronica.

There was an empty glass by her hand. Veronica wondered if she’d been drinking. She sometimes would before a night shift, joking that it helped her keep calm enough to deal with the kind of people who frequented gas stations at those hours.

“Thank you for having me over, by the way,” Veronica said, because she couldn’t think of anything better.

Closing her eyes, Mrs. Dunnstock let out a long, unsteady breath. “You know you’re always welcome here, dear,” she said. Her eyebrows twisted together, and she rubbed a hand over her eyes to smooth them. “Having you over is the least I can do at a time like this.”

Understanding dawned on Veronica, more uncomfortable than wondering had been.

“I’m sorry this is so weird,” she said, trying to smile. She wasn’t sure what the right words were to comfort a parent who’d nearly lost a child. “This has probably all been really hard on you, huh?”

Mrs. Dunnstock stood up suddenly, her chair nearly tipping over with the force of the action. Veronica started, and the soda bottle almost slipped from her hand.

“Don’t say that,” Mrs. Dunnstock barked, slamming her book down on the table. She deflated almost immediately, rubbing a hand over her eyes again and shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Veronica. But please, don’t say that. I’m the adult, I’m supposed to take _care_ of you kids, and here I am hiding away in the kitchen and barely even talking to you when you both—”

She cut herself off. “No,” she said softly. She picked up her book again, grabbed her coat off the back of her chair, and tossed it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to drop by the drug store before heading into work, so if I don’t get going soon, I’ll be late,” she continued, not meeting Veronica’s gaze. “Make sure Martha takes her medication by eleven, please.”

She was out the door before Veronica could reply. She sighed, shoved the coke bottle back in the fridge, and brought the two filled cups back to the living room.

“Mom left?” Martha asked, not looking at Veronica. Her face was bowed, her knuckles white from clutching the popcorn bowl too hard.

Veronica frowned, placing the cokes on the floor in front of their blanket mountain before climbing back onto it. “Yeah,” she muttered.  “She wanted me to make sure you don’t forget your pills.”

“Okay,” Martha said, picking up the VCR remote and jabbing the play button.

Veronica shoveled another handful of popcorn into her mouth as the familiar commercials sped by. She wanted to say something, anything, to make Martha feel better. No words came. She tried not to be too angry with Mrs. Dunnstock for souring the mood.

The frame story played through without either of them opening their mouths to follow along. Martha was quiet even as Buttercup and Westley came on, barely reacting as Buttercup bossed the farm boy around. Veronica glanced between the TV and her friend, tugging at her blanket. She wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just stop the movie and go to bed early. The first scene had nearly totally passed before Veronica finally noticed Martha mouthing along to Westley’s final “As you wish”.

Slowly, tension began to ease from Martha’s shoulders, and she grew more forward about tossing out lines. Veronica smiled, watching her more than the movie, though she made sure to shout along with her favorite parts.

However strained things were, spending the night with Martha was comforting in its familiarity. This was maybe the first time since the start of her senior year that Veronica wasn’t worried that the thing that was making her happy was going to get somebody else hurt. If she forgot the mounting pain in her chest, and the brace around Martha’s neck, and the sling supporting her arm, she could almost pretend that it had all been a bad dream.

She pushed that thought aside before it could go too far, grabbing Martha’s hand.

The rest of the movie sped by. If Veronica cried when Inigo Montoya finally avenged his father, well, Martha would never tell anybody, any more than Veronica would ever let slip the way Martha hiccupped through most of Buttercup’s rescue. When the credits rolled, it was coming up on eleven.

Veronica got up, ejecting the video and sticking it in the rewinder. She turned back towards Martha. “Do you want me to get you your meds?”

Martha nodded, yawning. “And some water, please?”

Veronica was back with them a minute later, balancing three pill bottles and two cups of water on a plate. She swallowed down her own pills before handing the other two bottles to Martha, the caps already popped off. It was weird, Veronica thought, sharing this sort of thing with someone else, though she couldn’t place why.

Martha finished off the glass of water, putting it back down on the plate. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Hey, Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Veronica blinked, wondering at the sudden shift in her voice. “Yeah, of course.”

“Why did you do it?” Martha asked, taking off her glasses and running her fingers along the red rims. “Last week… what you told me. Why did you do it?”

 “You mean the note,” Veronica said, surprised by how calm her voice sounded. Her mind raced, trying to trace the subject change, to understand how they’d backtracked.

Martha nodded.

Veronica hesitated, searching for an explanation that didn’t involve confessing to murder. For half a second, honesty almost seemed appealing, but it was too late at this point to grow a conscience.

The words came slowly. “After how badly Ram treated you, I couldn’t take that you still wanted to believe in him,” she said. “And the way you were going after JD really got to me. I just wanted you to stop, and I couldn’t figure out how else to do it.” She paused. “I hadn’t meant for you to find out that way.”

“But why would you write that note?” Martha asked, soft and shaky. “You knew what he meant to me. You were my best friend.”

Veronica bit her lip. “Were?”

Martha slouched forward. “You are,” she said. “But Veronica, I don’t understand what’s been happening with you recently. You don’t explain anything, this is the first time you’ve even really talked to me in weeks. You’ve changed so much….”

“I know,” Veronica said, grasping Martha’s uninjured shoulder. “I get it, Martha, I swear I do—” She tried to keep her chin from trembling. “Everything that went on with the Heathers, and with JD, it’s over. I’m never going to hurt you like that again. I promise.” She caught Martha’s eye, willing her to see Veronica’s sincerity.

Martha looked away. “I’m not sure you can promise that.”

“I’ll try, if you let me.”

Martha smiled, but didn’t respond.

Veronica clenched her eyes shut, breathed deeply, then opened them again. “Do you want to go to bed now?”

“…okay.”

\-----

Veronica’s mother was by at eight to pick her up. Martha had already left for school, and Veronica had slept straight through her going. She wished she’d had woken her up, given her the chance to undo the way the night had ended, but it was too late.

Mrs. Dunnstock was nowhere to be seen, so Veronica left a note on the counter thanking her and asking Martha to call her.

Her mother offered her a small smile as the car pulled out onto the street. “So,” she asked, “how did everything go last night? Was Martha doing alright?”

“Yeah, Mom, she was great,” Veronica said, tugging her seatbelt so it didn’t press as tightly against her ribs. She should’ve taken some Tylenol when she woke up. “You can hardly tell she tried to kill herself last week.”

Her mother’s hands jerked on the steering wheel, nearly pushing them into the next lane of traffic before she righted their course. Veronica let out a startled cry, bracing herself against the dashboard as they swerved. An angry horn blared from a sedan in the left lane.

“Don’t _say_ things like that,” her mother complained. “This isn’t some kind of joke, Veronica—”

“You think I don’t get that?” Veronica cut her off. Anxiety was making her tone harsh, but she didn’t care. “My best friend jumped off a bridge. My boyfriend tried to blow himself up. Even Heather tried to swallow a bottle of pills. You think I don’t know this serious, Mom? I get it, but what else am I supposed to do?”

Veronica swore, and the part of her that knew cursing in front of parents was inappropriate was gleeful at the childish bit of rebellion.  “I’ll be glib if I want to,” she finished, looking resolutely out at the passing scenery.

There was no reply, which was almost always a bad sign with her mother. Superior and out-of-touch and immediate were the kind of responses Veronica was used to getting, but the last few days had thrown off even her. She glanced back at her warily. Her mother’s lips were pursed, and her eyes shone. Guilt immediately overtook whatever lingering satisfaction she’d had.

Veronica’s shoulders slumped. “Sorry.”

Her mother sniffled. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you recently,” she said wetly. Veronica tried not to remember the way Martha had admitted that she couldn’t understand her anymore. “I just worry that next time I find you hanging from your ceiling it won’t be a joke.”

Veronica’s opened and closed her mouth helplessly, at a loss for words. “It won’t be,” she said eventually. “I don’t want to die.”

Her mother breathed deeply several times, seeming to gather herself. “I just want things to be back to normal as soon as possible,” she said.

Veronica kicked the backpack sitting by her feet and said nothing.

\-------

They pulled up in front of the familiar hospital entrance fifteen minutes later.

“Oh!” her mother said suddenly, hitting the top of the steering wheel with her open hand. “I almost forgot to tell you. Heather called last night—the nice one? She’s worried about you, and wants you to call her today when you have the chance.”

Veronica blinked. “Yeah, I—okay, sure. I will.”

Her mother smiled. Veronica wasn’t sure when she’d decided that Heather Mac was somebody she actually wanted Veronica spending time with, but she seemed pleased that Veronica actually had more than one friend to talk to. She pulled her purse out of the back seat, fished out a twenty, and pressed it into Veronica’s hand. “For food, or a taxi in case you want to leave early,” she said. “Your father will swing by when he gets off work, otherwise.”

Pocketing the money, Veronica pulled up her bag onto her shoulder and opened the car door. “Thanks,” she said as she climbed out.

Her mother waved and waited for her to walk onto the curb before pulling away.

Veronica sighed, walking through the double doors towards the dreary, familiar blandness of the waiting room. She wondered if this would be another day of anxious boredom, or if today would finally be the day she got to see JD.

She wasn’t sure which sounded less appealing.

The woman at the reception desk (the same woman it had been the last time she was here, she noted, though she still didn’t know her name) smiled at her politely, but didn’t acknowledge her bedsides that. Veronica settled down into what she was beginning to think of as her chair and fished a novel from her bag. It was one she’d grabbed while at Martha’s, which she’d leant her before the beginning of the school year.

Martha had smiled when she’d given it back last night, grabbing it off of a counter covered in cacti while Veronica was piling the couch high with blankets. She’d liked the ending, she said. Veronica had thought it was a little silly, if only because she had a hard time believing books where everyone got their happily ever after, but somehow it still warmed her that Martha had enjoyed it.

She sighed, thumbing it open. Her own name was written neatly in the corner of the first page, in the tiny, straightforward script she only cautiously thought of as her own handwriting. That was the problem spending so much time mimicking the habits of others, she supposed. You didn’t get to spend much time just being yourself.

She rolled her eyes at herself, wondering when she’d gotten so pretentious.

A few hours ticked by without anything interesting happening. Others came in and out regularly, speaking with the receptionist and filling out their paperwork, many of them crying at one point or another, but there was no one she knew, and no one mentioned Jason Dean.

Veronica put her book down, bored with the familiar plot. Restless energy hummed beneath her skin. She toyed briefly with the idea of calling Heather Mac before remembering that she’d be in school. Where Veronica would be if she were in the habit of making responsible decisions.

She stuffed her book back in her bag and went to go get lunch.

After suffering through some of the cafeteria’s offerings, she decided to circle back to the waiting room the long way. Although the burning white walls of the hallways weren’t exactly a relief from the burning white walls of the waiting room, even the minimal change of scenery made Veronica’s shoulders feel less tight. A small part of her worried that in the extra ten minutes she’d be gone, she’d manage to miss JD entirely—he’d awaken and be released, and she’d never even know it. She knew, rationally, that that wasn’t possible. She wasn’t entirely sure that it would be a bad thing, anyway.

Why was she even waiting for him? She didn’t know what she wanted to say to him, and the thought of seeing him filled her with a nauseating sense of dread. But the idea of just leaving him alone in a hospital bed, maybe dying and in pain, was somehow worse.

Veronica stopped suddenly, looking around. Nurses milled back and forth, going in and out of the rooms lining the hall and sometimes stopping to chat with each other. This looked a lot like the actual hospitally part of the hospital that she wasn’t supposed to be in.

Shit. Where was she?

A cascade of curses filled her thoughts, and she scuffed her shoe against the floor in frustration. _Dear diary_ , she mentally scrawled, _it turns out that what all of the cheap TV dramas say is true. Look like you’re supposed to be there, and everybody will really assume you’re actually allowed to be. But only if you didn’t mean to get there in the first place._

She glanced around, trying to figure out which of the nurses looked the least busy. Her eyes landed on a pair who were standing by a tall, wilted plant, chatting animatedly and seeming very much like people who weren’t doing their jobs. She walked towards them slowly, wondering if she’d have to admit she wasn’t supposed to be here in order to get directions back to the waiting room.

“…police came by again?” one asked, gesturing excitedly with her left hand. Veronica paused.

“I heard,” the other replied, pausing to take a drink from her coffee cup. “About the Dean kid, right? The one who got moved to psych last night?”

Veronica choked, barely believing what she was hearing.

“Yeah,” the first nurse said, nodding with such vigor that she reminded Veronica of a bobblehead. “Julie basically told them to fuck off until he’s out on Wednesday. You should’ve seen it, she was amazing.” She laughed, slapping her hand against the wall. “That woman is a beast, Val. I think I’m in love.”

“Um,” Veronica said. Both of the nurses looked over at her, seeming annoyed that she’d interrupted their gossip. “Sorry. I just. I’m lost.”

The second nurse—Val, apparently—gave her a stern look. “Where were you coming from?” she asked.

“The cafeteria,” Veronica replied, mind scrambling to process what she’d just heard. JD was awake. He was awake and he was in psych and he was going to be out on Wednesday and

“I’m guessing you’re not actually supposed to be over here,” Val said, sighing. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling a few strands out of her messy bun. “If people would do their jobs around here, we wouldn’t have this problem so frequently.”

Veronica refrained from pointing out that she’d be gossiping in a corner rather than doing her own job.

The other nurse smiled at her, grasping her arm gently. “Come on, hon, I’ll help you get where you’re going.”

“The waiting room. Wait,” Veronica cut herself off. Wednesday. JD was going to be out on Wednesday. “Actually, can you bring me to the pay phone by the entrance?”

“Sure,” she said, still smiling. “Val, if anybody asks, tell them I’ll be back in five.”

Val rolled her eyes and took a long sip from her coffee cup, making a shooing motion with her left hand.

“So,” the nurse said, “if you don’t mind me asking, who do you need to call? If it’s an emergency, I could just sneak you the phone behind the desk and save you the charge.”

Veronica shook her head absently, thoughts buzzing. _Wednesday_. “Just a cab.”

\------

Flopping down on her bed, Veronica pulled a pillow over her face and screamed as loudly as she could.

JD was awake. He was _awake_. He was awake and he was going to be released soon, he was going to be okay—

“Don’t get too wild, there,” she muttered to herself. “Probably not okay.”

She felt tears running down her cheeks and bit down on her lip until she felt the skin break. She’d spent too much time crying recently. She should be done with this by now. Hadn’t she spent enough of her life crying over him to fulfill her teen angst quota for good?

She hugged her pillow and sobbed, curling up on her comforter.

At some point she must’ve dozed off, because the sound of her mother slamming the front door a couple of hours later startled her out of sleep. Her cheeks and nose felt crusty, and she groaned in disgust. She slid off her bed and went to scrub her face off in the bathroom. She regarded herself in the mirror, taking in the reddened eyes, pale skin, and tidy stitches.

“You look like shit,” she said accusingly.

“Veronica?” her mother called from downstairs.

“Coming,” she shouted back. She sighed, dried her hands on a towel, and jogged down the stairs. As she reached the bottom step, the world suddenly went askew. Her foot caught on the rug, sending her spiraling into the edge of the bannister before she landed gracelessly on her butt at her mother’s feet.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Veronica cracked up, cackling even though her chest felt like she’d been hit with a mallet. Sighing, her mother leaned down to help her up, hoisting her onto her feet and half-carrying her over to the couch.

“Could you please avoid needing to go back to the hospital already?” she said, running a concerned hand down Veronica’s face.

Veronica allowed the touch, still shaking with mirth and pain. “Funny you should say that.”

Her mother paused, frowning. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Veronica made an indistinct sound, looking away from her mother. This was as good an opening as any, she figured, and not saying it wouldn’t change the truth. Tugging at a loose threat sticking from the seam of a couch cushion, she tried to make the words sound steady: “JD’s awake.”

Her mother gasped, sitting down on the couch next to her. She lifted on hand to Veronica’s back, resting it between her shoulder blades. “Did you get to see him?” she asked.

Veronica shook her head. “But he gets out Wednesday,” she said.

Rubbing her hand in comforting circles, her mother hummed thoughtfully. “Well,” she said, “I suppose that means you’ll have to go back on Wednesday.” Veronica offered her a small smile, trying to quell the fear surging through her at the thought of confronting JD. “But,” she continued, “you have to go to school tomorrow.”

Gaping, Veronica started to protest. Something about her mother’s expression, however, quieted her. “Okay,” she said. The idea of seeing Westerburg again made her want to vomit, but whether she went back on Tuesday or Thursday, it didn’t really make much difference. She could do this for her mom.

Her mother smiled and patted her knee. “I’m going to make dinner soon. Maybe you can call that friend back while I get things ready, and then you can help me in the kitchen? And call your father, too, and let him know he doesn’t have to pick you up.”

“Sure,” Veronica said.

“Alright then,” her mother said, lifting herself up. “Take you time.”

Veronica looked over at the phone hanging on the wall by the television. She sighed and walked over to it. There was a note by it with Heather’s full name and phone number, with a little smiley face on it wearing her mother’s favorite hat.

She dialed the number, trying not to linger on the growing guilt she felt for taking so long to contact Heather.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

“Hi,” Veronica replied, twirling the phone cord around her wrist. “Um. Is Heather there? It’s Veronica.”

“Oh, hi!” the voice said again. “This is Heather. Oh my god, how are you? People at school were saying you’d killed yourself, it was so awful. And then there was that explosion on the football field, so now that’s all they can talk about, but barely _anybody_ knows what happened. I heard that JD was trying to blow himself up, or at least that’s what Heather’s been telling people. Is it true? And you were the one that stopped him?”

Veronica blinked, trying to process Heather’s rapid-fire questions. How had people even heard about that? “Hi,” she repeated, grasping for words. “You sound different on the phone.”

Heather hesitated. There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the line. “Are you okay, Veronica?” she asked finally.

“I guess you could say that,” Veronica said, pinching the bridge of her nose. The worry in Heather’s voice made her feel even worse for taking so long to call her. “I’m alive, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. I’m even going to be back in school tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Heather said, voicing cracking. Veronica imagined she was playing with the hem of her skirt, the way she sometimes did when she was upset. She wished she were any good at comforting people over the phone, but all she felt was the useless urge to wrap Heather in a hug.

“Please don’t cry,” Veronica said, trying to sound soothing. “Like I said, I’m fine. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Heather said, sniffling.

Veronica laughed a little. “It’s nice to hear your voice. I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. But I’ll see you tomorrow, I promise.”

Heather sniffed harder. “Okay,” she repeated.

“I’ve got to go now, though. I’m helping Mom make dinner tonight, and she’ll be annoyed if we aren’t done by the time Dad gets home,” Veronica said. “Do you want to meet me before homeroom tomorrow?”

“Of course!”

Veronica smiled again. “Then I’ll see you then.”

“Right. See you then.”

“Bye,” Veronica said, waited for Heather’s echoed salutation, and hung up.

\------

Westerburg hadn’t changed since Veronica had last been there, though it felt like it should have. Students still roamed the halls looking tired and frustrated in turn, and teachers still milled about watching out for any particularly rowdy behavior. Only the looks she sometimes caught people throwing her out of the corner of her eye, and the way they’d crowd together and buzz with quiet gossip as she passed, let her know that things weren’t entirely as usual. She pulled the straps of her backpack tighter and ignored them.

When she arrived at her homeroom, the Heathers were waiting for her by the door. When they spotted her, Heather Mac’s eyes were shiny with tears, and she was wearing a grin so wide it looked almost uncomfortable. Heather Duke raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, managing to look at once unimpressed and scornful. Veronica hadn’t expected her to be there, she noted sourly, and wondered when the two of them had reunited.

“You look like hell,” Heather Duke said, smirking as she looked pointedly towards the stitches running along Veronica’s forehead.

Veronica scowled, but her reply was cut off when Heather Mac leapt into her arms, squishing her face into her shoulder. Veronica winced at the impact, but wrapped her arms around Heather anyway, pressing her face into her mass of curls. She settled for flipping off Heather Duke around her back.

“I’m glad to see you too,” Veronica said, pulling away but keeping one hand on Heather’s shoulder, and deliberately focusing only on her as she spoke.

“Me too,” she said, wiping her eyes. Heather Duke snorted, and Veronica’s attention snapped back to her.

“So,” she said, eyeing her tensely, “what’s up?”

Heather Duke made a high, dismissive sound, further grating on Veronica’s nerves. “Well,” she said, “mostly everyone’s interested in knowing why your psycho ex-boyfriend decided to blow up the football field right before football season ended. A loser like him trying to off himself wouldn’t have been such a big deal if he hadn’t taken out so much of actual value with him.” She put out her hand, examining her nails with deliberate casualness. “Jury’s still out on whether or not you’re a hero or an unfortunate survivor.”

A short, shocked laugh escaped Veronica’s throat. “Are you kidding?” she asked. Heather just looked amused by her reaction, and rage swelled in Veronica’s chest.

Heather Mac’s eyes widened, and she looked between them frantically. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Heather,” she said, placing her hand on Veronica’s. “It’s really mean.”

Heather Duke gave a satisfied hum, flipping her tied-up hair over one shoulder. “The truth can hurt. Some freaks really are worth less than the grass you walk on.”

Veronica saw red.

Pulling her hand free of Heather’s grip, she stalked forward and grabbed ahold of Heather Duke’s arm. “Shut the _fuck_ up,” she snarled. Distantly, she felt a surge of panic, wondering what the hell she was doing, but hateful momentum spurred her on.

Fear lit Heather’s eyes. “What are you—?”

Veronica reached up, grabbed a fistful of Heather’s braids, and ripped the red scrunchie from her hair.

She held it in front of Heather’s face. “No,” she said, voice steely. She thought about Martha, and JD, and a trio of dead bullies. “You’re done,” she continued. “I’m done with you, I’m done with all of this,” she gestured at the crowd of students that had begun to gather around them, watching in fascination. “I am _done_.”

She pulled her hair into a messy low ponytail and turned to face the other students. “Listen up folks,” she said, voice carrying down the unnaturally quieted hall, “war’s over. We are done tearing each other apart for sport. We are done making fun of kids who need our help. And we are done with trying to destroy each other before any of us can escape this hellhole.  A new sheriff’s come to town, got it? _We_. _Are_. _Done_.” She gave the crowd another fiery look, and saw a couple of students take a step back.

Turning back towards the Heathers, she put out her hand. Her heat beat wildly. “What do you say?”

Heather Mac hesitated, shifting back and forth on the balls of her feet, before she shook her hand and threw herself at Veronica, latching onto her arm. Heather Duke’s hands curled up into fists, and she opened her mouth to spew what Veronica was sure more toxic bile.

“Shut up, Heather!” she growled.

Heather’s mouth shut with an audible click.

“What is going on here?” Ms. Jameson said, emerging from a nearby classroom, her glasses askew on her face, probably from sleeping at her desk.

“Nothing, Ms. Jameson,” Veronica said, eyes still locked on Heather Duke. “We’re just clearing a few things up.”

The teacher hummed in disinterest and ducked back into her classroom.

“So?” Veronica said.

Heather Duke was nearly shaking with rage when she finally spat out, “Fine.” Veronica didn’t care.

The warning bell rang, and the crowd that surrounded them dispersed as they headed for their homerooms. Heather Duke sent her a final, caustic glare before turning and heading into Ms. Jameson’s room.

“So,” Heather said after a moment, “that was exciting.”

Veronica gave a panicked laugh. “Yeah,” she said, running her hand along the back of her head until it rested on the scrunchie. “Exciting.”

“Veronica…” Heather bit her lip, and reached out to take Veronica’s hand again. She squeezed it gently. “You’re the strongest person I know,” she said softly, “and the best. You saved my life. And I’m really… I’m really glad you did that. Maybe you can save everybody else, too.”

The earnestness in her gaze made Veronica look away. (“Make things better,” JD had pleaded.) She reached out and punched Heather’s shoulder awkwardly, trying to lighten the moment. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll try.”

\-----

Veronica barely heard anything her teachers said as her classes rolled by, one after the other. Everywhere she went, kids would stare her until she caught their eyes, after which they’d spring away like startled gazelle. It wasn’t entirely new—she remembered what it was like, from those few golden weeks with the Heathers before things had gone wrong, to have people fear and adore her. And it wasn’t like people hadn’t already been staring at her since she got back to school. But it hadn’t been as intense as this, or the atmosphere so weirdly tentative.

She grimaced. It felt like she was being auditioned. Role: queen bitch of Westerburg High.

Knocking Heather Duke off of her throne hadn’t been part of Veronica’s back-to-school agenda, but she found she couldn’t regret it. Heather Chandler’s evil had, at least, known some moderation. She gave to the masses (the parts of the masses that she thought mattered, at least) just enough to keep people worshipping her, begging for scraps of her attention and mercy. Heather Duke had tossed aside anyone who threatened her or got in her way, learning all of Heather Chandler’s worst tricks and none of her best.

Veronica’s toleration for tyrants, it seemed, had expired somewhere around the time she’d almost killed her boyfriend.

The whispers in the halls and the looks in class weren’t going to kill her, she resolved, and as long as she could keep Heather Duke in line, she could make sure things from falling apart. When the bell ending fourth period finally released her class to lunch, she only smiled at the classmates she caught staring at her.

Veronica picked up a lunch tray, trying to spot Martha or the Heathers. A few people ahead of her in line, she saw Martha, slouched over her tray and wearing the pink unicorn sweatshirt she loved so much. Veronica wavered for a moment. Martha had never called her, and she wasn’t sure if that meant she didn’t want to talk to her, or if she just hadn’t had the time. But if she didn’t go to her, it might look like she was back to ignoring Martha, which would be unforgivable.

She gathered herself and stepped out of line to greet her friend, but was cut off when an attractive, preppy boy stepped in front of her, smacking down Martha’s tray and leaning down to laugh in her face. He turned to share his mirth with a friend, a tall boy wearing a football jacket. Veronica felt sour recognition sweep through her. Just like Heather Duke had stepped up to fill in for Heather Chandler, these guys were taking the place Kurt and Ram had occupied. Things never changed around here.

“Hey,” Veronica barked, and the guys looked at her in surprise.

She walked closer to them, gripping her tray tightly. It occurred to her that if things really couldn’t change, this would probably just end with her losing whatever social standing she’d managed to wrench from Heather this morning. She tried not to dwell on it.

Veronica softened her features as much as she could, gazing up at the preppy boy and trying to channel the sappily seductive look Heather Chandler had tried to drill into her. “Would you pick that up for me?” she asked in what she hoped was a sexy voice, placing one hand on his arm and letting the hand carrying her tray linger by his thigh.

Preppy Boy glanced down at his arm, mouth opening and closing like a drowning fish. “I. Uh. Dude?” he said helplessly to his friend.

Jacket-Guy looked her up and down, and easy grin spreading across his face. “And why should we do that, huh?”

Veronica knew what that sleazy tone was implying. She fought not to gag.

“I would _really_ appreciate it,” she said, adding a wink for Jacket-Guy while she slid her tray up the inside of Preppy Boy’s leg.

_Now_. She jerked it up suddenly, smacking the tray into his balls with just enough force to send him tumbling forward. She stepped out of his way, leaning down to whisper in his ear as he crouched on the ground, “Don’t do it again.”

She picked up Martha’s tray and pressed it into Preppy Boy’s hands, obscuring the scene from his friend’s view with her body. Jacket-Guy made confused sounds from behind her, but she ignored him.

“Are you alright?” she asked Preppy Boy loudly, catching his gaze. He made a short, indignant sound, but she cut him off with a sharp look. She grabbed his arm and helped pull him to his feet, her hands lingering on his chest to smooth imaginary wrinkles from his sweater, sickly satisfied by the confusion on his face.

Turning back towards Jacket-Guy, she said, “He was just leaning down to get my friend’s tray, and suddenly he was on the floor.” She patted Preppy Boy’s arm once more. “It must have been a cramp from working out so much. I hear really fit guys can get those sometimes,” she said, putting on her best pout. She willed him to understand. _Do you want to save face, or admit to your jock friend that you got taken down by a girl?_

Jacket-Guy looked to him for confirmation, and Preppy Boy stared at her for a moment. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “That must’ve been it.”

“Thank you so much,” Veronica said, blowing him a kiss and waving the both of them off. “You guys should probably get back in line, huh? Oh,” she added, “but don’t forget to give Martha her tray back first.”

Preppy boy frowned, but turned back towards Martha to shove the tray back into her hands. She nearly dropped it again, just staring at Veronica. Neither of them bothered watching as the guys finally walked away, joining a herd of other athletic boys towards the back of the line.

People all across the cafeteria were watching with interest, and after a moment a soft swell of approval washed across the room. Veronica wasn’t certain if that was something to be proud of or not, but it seemed like she at least hadn’t immediately managed to undo this morning’s work.

Martha looked down at her tray. “Hi,” she said eventually. “Thanks.” Her cheeks were red, but she was smiling, which Veronica would take as victory.

“Do you want to eat lunch with me and Heather?” she asked, once they’d moved through the lunch line. Martha nodded, and in her giddiness Veronica did what she judged to be a very inconspicuous little dance with her tray. And even though Martha saw and laughed at her a little, that made things even better. Martha laughing was a good thing, always.

Veronica led her over to the table that she’d spotted Heather Mac at, and was only slightly irritated when she saw that Heather Duke was there as well. She wasn’t surprised that even after their fallout Heather would be willing to stick around. Thinking of all she’d put up with from Heather Chandler, Veronica doubted there were anything she wouldn’t do to stay close to whomever she thought would keep her popular. She’d been counting on it, to be honest, but no matter how much she knew she would need Heather Duke, she couldn’t entirely suppress her dislike.

Heather Duke shot a disdainful look at Martha as they approached, but managed to keep quiet, so Veronica didn’t call her on it. Heather Mac looked nervous, but greeted Martha with the same kind of enthusiasm she showed Veronica, for which she shot her a thankful look.

Veronica wondered if Martha was running through in her mind all of the terrible things these girls had said and done to her over the years, the way Veronica was. Judging by the way she was quietly hunched over her lukewarm chicken sandwich, she probably way. Veronica wondered briefly if bringing them together had been a bad idea, but she shoved the thought aside. If things were going to change at Westerburg, then it could start here, with them.

Trying to cut through the worst of the rising tension, Veronica carried the conversation mostly on her own, trying to engage Heather Mac and Martha and ignoring Heather Duke. She and Heather Mac eventually managed to kick up something resembling a healthy conversation, and although Martha never joined in, by the end she was smiling and even occasionally laughing at something they said, which was enough for now.

_We’re going to be okay_ , she thought.

\------

The rest of the day sped by, with only two periods left before the final bell rang. Veronica was exhausted in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Maybe she really hadn’t been taking school off just to worry about JD after all. She popped a couple of pills into her mouth and washed them down with some tap water. Her mother had picked her up barely five minutes after classes were out and sped her home, worrying over Veronica the whole time.

Part of her had wanted to prove to her mother that she was completely fine and not at all in need of overzealous mothering, but a larger part of her had appreciated by swaddled in blankets and fed before being packed off to an early bedtime.

Veronica climbed into her bed carefully, anxious for the pain meds to kick in. She picked up her alarm clock and set it for eight, hoping her mother wouldn’t try to go back on her promise to bring Veronica to the hospital tomorrow. She hadn’t heard what time JD was going to get out, and she’d never forgive herself if she missed it because she chose a bad day to sleep in.

Still, as she placed the clock back on her side table, she wondered if maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of Big Fun serenading her. With a groan, she slammed the alarm off and dragged herself out of bed, immediately heading to the bathroom to swallow a couple more pills. She showered and dressed within ten minutes, but spent a little more time than usual applying makeup and sorting out her hair. She didn’t know why, but it made her feel better, like a layer of painted armor.

Her mother was waiting for her when she got downstairs, and she goaded Veronica into having a breakfast of toast and juice before they were off. The food sat uncomfortably in her stomach, but at least is she threw up it wasn’t the kind of stuff that’d really hurt.

The car ride was short and blessedly quiet. Her mother offered to stay with her, since she didn’t know how long it would be, but Veronica refused the offer. The idea of having her mother there when she finally spoke to JD was at once embarrassing and painful, so she was grateful when she didn’t fight her on it. Giving Veronica an understanding look, her mother handed her another twenty and was off.

The waiting room was the same as it had always been, though the receptionist was a different woman this time. She didn’t acknowledge Veronica when she passed by and settled into her chair. Veronica had brought a different book this time, though she was too tense to do much reading. The volume of poetry sat in her bag, mocking her sentimentality. Baudelaire. She’d picked it up when she and JD had gone to the mall after Heather Chandler’s funeral.

She hugged her unopened bag, resting her chin on it, and waited.

Activity sped up in the waiting room, with families filing in and out. The same process of crying and filling out paperwork played out as had on Monday, the kind of routine tragedy and hope that probably always filled rooms like this, though Veronica had hardly noticed it before. A few small children played with the brightly colored toys that had been laid out for them in one corner, though none of them really looked entertained. 

When Big Bud Dean ambled into the room, Veronica didn’t let herself feel surprised. JD was getting out. Of course his father was here.

She tried not to listen too closely to his conversation with the receptionist, merely watching his back as he headed back down the same hallway as he had last time. Belatedly, she realized there was no way she could ask him to leave so she could talk to JD alone, and that whatever she said to him would also go straight to the ears of his father. She felt sick, trying not to think about the look on JD’s face during their few meetings.

It felt like an eternity had passed before the doors finally swung open again. JD’s dad came out first, clutching a worn black coat in his hands. A moment later, JD finally limped out, face pale and drawn. His eyes were glued firmly to the floor, and he didn’t so much as glance her way.

_Look at me_ , she thought. _Please look at me._

But he didn’t, not once as his father chatted with the woman at the desk, signing what forms were required of them, or even as his coat was pressed into his hands. He just stared at it dully, holding it awkwardly away from his stomach. Where she’d shot him.

And then they left.

Veronica shot out of her chair, dropping her backpack and nearly tripping on it before she scooped it up off the floor and ran after them. She had to—they couldn’t leave before—

They rounded a corner ten feet from her, nearly at the exit and steps from the payphone she’d used to call Martha. “Wait!” she called, and JD halted. His father stopped a second later, eyebrow raised over the brim of his sunglasses as he turned.

He grinned when he spotted her. “Well look who it is,” he said, nudging JD. Judging from the way JD flinched, he’d jostled his wound.

“JD,” she said, voice wavering.

Finally, he turned and looked at her. His fists were white around his coat, and his expression was tight. His eyes shone brightly, though with tears or anger, she couldn’t tell. His jaw worked, like he was trying to figure out whether to yell at her.

She wondered if she should be scared of him. All she felt was sadness, so thick it nearly choked her. She floundered, searching for something to say. This is what she’d been waiting for all these days: a chance to see him, to say whatever it was you were supposed to say to someone who’d done what he’d done.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she said finally.

He laughed. “Yeah.”

She frowned. “I’m glad you’re alive,” she repeated. She glanced at his father, who was watching them with amusement. She looked back at JD, trying to catch his eye. “I really am.” She hesitating before adding, “I love you.”

His eyes widened. “Veronica—” he started, voice thick.

God, she wanted to hold him. Even after all he’d done, seeing him like this made her heart hurt, and she could feel whatever strength she’d thought she had crumbling. A cold shock of alarm shot through her at the thought. The last time she’d put aside her moral boundaries for him, he’d nearly destroyed their entire school—did she even have the right to forgive him anymore?

She hadn’t known what she was going to say to him beforehand, but now, standing in front of him, she thought she finally understood what she needed to do.

“But,” she interrupted, pushing the words out before she could stop herself, “I need you to leave me alone.”

He stepped back, as if struck.

She continued, trying not to notice the tears streaking his cheeks. Her pulse thundered in her throat, and it was hard to believe that this was actually happening. “I just wanted to make sure you understood,” she said, each word feeling like a needle in her skin. “I love you, but we’re over. Things are going to be different now—they’re going to be better. But to make that happen, we need to be over. For good.”

She tried to smile, but it faltered. “Bye, JD”

He stared at her like he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He father started to laugh, dragging his attention away from her. He patted JD’s shoulder, only seeming to laugh harder at the look of rage blooming his face, and guided him towards the door. Veronica watched them going, hands twitching at her sides, itching to reach out to JD before he was gone.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

Veronica sank down to the floor, a headache starting to pulse against her temples. She pressed her head against the cold, white wall, feeling oddly numb. She’d done the right thing. It was the right thing.

She was sure if she thought it enough times, she’d start to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a lot longer to post than I'd anticipated it would, for which I apologize. I had not at all realized how long this chapter would get, wow. The next chapter should, if all goes well, not take quite as long to put out as this one did. 
> 
> A huge thank you to TheLatePapers, who helped me transform this chapter into something that's actually readable.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first WIP I've dedicated myself to in many years, but it's already fully plotted and a decent chunk of the next chapter is already written, so hopefully it'll be posted in full by the end of August. And if all goes well, there should even be a sequel in the works. Here's hoping another person contributing can get the Heathers fandom onto the writing-fanfic train!
> 
> If the warnings/tags concern you at all, please feel free to message me about it! If you have specific concerns about triggers-- either in that you feel I've failed to tag something I should have, or you're worried something will crop up later in the fic--please let me know, and I'll be willing to answer with as many/few spoilers as you want.


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